


Talkeetna, At Three Rivers

by Lake (beyond_belief)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alaska, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Small Town, Larry Abroad Fic Challenge, M/M, Small Town Shenanigans
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-04
Updated: 2019-06-04
Packaged: 2020-02-27 04:49:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,540
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18731926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beyond_belief/pseuds/Lake
Summary: Harry's a radio deejay, Louis an aspiring filmmaker, and Niall owns a pub: all in pretty much the middle of nowhere.





	Talkeetna, At Three Rivers

**Author's Note:**

> This is very much a _Northern Exposure_ -style AU (Talkeetna is the town Cicely was likely based on), where not much happens besides some small town shenanigans.

"So really you're just trying to get me to be in your movie," Harry says, when Louis explains over the phone, on-air and in the middle of Harry's radio show, that he wants Harry to go on a date with him so he can film it as an improvisational experiment.

"It's a short film."

"Listeners, I'm hanging up on Louis now," Harry says into the microphone, and disconnects the call with one firm push of the button. "Next on our musical voyage, Pink Floyd."

The Pink Floyd track is eight minutes long. Out the long, street-facing window in the front of the station, Harry can see Louis standing on the opposite side of the road, grinning stupidly and wagging his mobile phone in Harry's direction.

"You're a menace," Harry yells out the door. "Make another movie about trees."

"Saw that one, did ya?" Louis asks, jogging across the empty street. It's two in the afternoon, most residents are at their own jobs and not harassing Harry at his, so the only cars in sight are Niall's down outside the pub on the corner, and Harry's own beat-up VW angled up to the curb out front. 

"Don't know how I could avoid it, since you've got it playing on a loop in the store."

Louis grins again. Harry lets him into the station with a sigh. "Pink Floyd, yeah," Louis says, after listening for a moment. "Big on that classic rock."

"I play what the people enjoy." Harry sits back down in his chair, then gestures at the other seat, resigned to Louis's presence at least for a few minutes. "I doubt they enjoy your call-ins."

"Just the other day, Mrs. P said she always likes it when I phone in," Louis replies, resting the heels of his trainers on the edge of the desk. "I've got an audience. You should put me on your show more."

"No." Louis just gives him a look like he figures Harry will give in eventually. Harry shakes his head. "Seriously, no. Have Winston give you your own show, you can't creep in on mine."

"No one listens to the ten to midnight timeslot he offered."

"Too bad, then," Harry says with a shrug. "What does improvisational experiment even mean? Are you just trying to make things awkward?"

"Yes," Louis replies immediately, then laughs, probably entirely at Harry's expense. 

Harry glances at the time, then asks, "What makes it a date versus us sitting at Niall's like we normally do?"

"Candles and a tablecloth."

"That could make it a seance as much as it makes it a date," Harry replies, feeling a bit irritated that Louis would come in here like this, when he knows Harry's the only guy who likes guys as well as girls in the entire town. Harry's flexible like that. He likes to think he could fall in love with anyone. 

Louis perks up slightly. His hair falls into his eyes and he brushes it impatiently to the side. "I like this seance idea, Styles."

"Oh, God," Harry groans. "No. You don't really want to commune with the dead."

"Well, you're protesting my improv date idea, and I need _something_. And there's enough weird shit in this town, there's probably ghosts."

"I would be bad on camera," Harry attempts to insist, as firmly as possible. "And you don't believe in the supernatural."

"I keep an open mind!"

"No," Harry repeats. The Pink Floyd track is winding down, so he queues up some Cream. Once it's done, he'll have to do the station announcement, hopefully with Louis out of the booth so that Harry won't sound annoyed as he's reading it off. Then he asks, "You are leaving now, yes?".

"You would look lovely on camera," Louis tries to say, but he's clearly lying through his teeth in an attempt to get Harry to go along with his plans. Harry just glares at him until he takes his feet down from the edge of the desk and stands up, smoothing his hoodie down over his stomach as he does. "Think about it, yeah?"

"I will not." He elbows Louis towards the door. "Surely there's someone else in this town who will bend to your strange whims."

"There is _no one else_ in this stupid town," Louis protests. Harry shuts the door firmly in his face, then waves pointedly and goes back to the desk to hum along with Clapton.

*

Niall owns the pub, or so he says. Harry's sure Niall's a bit young to own a pub, but they do live pretty much in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by wilderness and trees and moose. The pub is always a little dim, no matter the time of day, and someone's always sweeping the floor, usually Niall. There are two tap beers and three bottled beers, and that's it for beer. Harry tried to order wine once and Niall looked at him like he was insane and said, "I can do a vodka cran, and that's as close as we get to wine here."

Harry had a vodka cran. Niall made it heavy on the Ocean Spray and stared at Harry until Harry slid it back across the bartop and said, "Give us more vodka than that, Niall."

Louis eats most of his meals at the pub. "At least I make my own food," Harry says, when Louis tries to talk Niall into making him a burger before noon.

"Got Niall to cook for me, don't I?" Louis replied.

"I don't make lunches until noon," Niall says to Louis, and points at the slightly dusty clock on the wall that hangs beneath a neon Labatt Blue sign. "It's eleven forty-two. Either wait eighteen minutes or get Harry to make you a sandwich out in his tin can trailer."

"Hey," Harry protests, but without heat.

"He's never invited me to the trailer," Louis says to Niall, making a face like he's terribly saddened by this, so Harry punches him in the arm. 

Niall shrugs. "I've never seen it either."

"It's only a trailer," Harry says. "It contains very few things. It's not exciting."

"It's not the trailer _itself_ , it's the fact that you won't invite us," Louis replies, in what's apparently supposed to be an explanation for this conversation. 

Harry sets his gaze on the ceiling and pretends like he's exasperated by all of this. Louis pinches him, and Harry slaps at his hand. "Hey!"

"It's the thought that counts," Niall says evenly. 

"Come over if you want." Harry takes another drink of his orange juice. "Only you, Niall. Not Louis."

"Is there not enough room?" Niall asks, completely straight-faced as though he really believes what he's asking, like Harry's trailer might only be big enough for two adult human beings to fit inside it.

Harry struggles for a moment to keep himself from smiling. "We won't all fit."

"Fuck off, you don't live in the cab of some pickup truck," Louis says, pinching at him again, although his hand softens after a moment and he pats Harry's thigh lightly, if hesitantly. "Right? It's really not as small as that, innit? Quit fucking with me."

Niall rolls his eyes. Harry grins at Louis. "Who'd you know who lived in the cab of a pickup?"

"Nobody."

"Oddly specific for nobody."

Niall shakes his head and pushes back from where he's been leaning on the bar. "Could only do it for about a week in the summer, like mid-July. Too cold otherwise. Else there's the bugs."

"If you got snowed over while it, it would be Spring thaw before someone found you," Louis adds. He hops down off the stool. "Need a pee. Make me a burger, Niall."

"It's not noon," Niall calls after him. "Harry, you want more juice?"

"Yeah, all right." As Niall opens the fridge where he keeps the mixers, Harry adds, "You guys didn't really know someone who lived in their truck, did you? Before I got here?", since Louis was so quick to discount it and now he wants to know.

"Not so much lived in the thing as spent a few nights camped out in there." Niall refills Harry's glass, then goes around the corner into the kitchen. Harry hears him rattling things around before Niall's blond head appears in the small window. "'spose I don't have anything else to do besides make Louis his bloody sandwich - you want something to eat, too?"

"What do you make of his movie idea?"

Niall gives a distinctly unconcerned shrug. There's the distinct sizzle of meat hitting the flat-top. 

Louis climbs back into his seat, knocking rather gracelessly into Harry as he does. "It's an excellent idea, you should say yes. You'll do fine on camera, your face is… okay." He makes a circular motion with his hand as if to indicate Harry's general countenance. 

"You only want to embarass me on camera," Harry replies, shaking his head. "Maybe Niall wants to take part in the seance."

"No. No ghosts in my bar," Niall calls, and a piece of onion comes flying through the window to hit Louis in the cheek. "Use the radio station if you want to be inviting the ghosts."

*

"So you came here to make a movie, but got left behind?" Harry asks Louis one day, as he browses the shelves at the corner store. He's heard bits of the story from Niall, but never from Louis direct. "What, did the rest of your crew forget about you?"

"I'm not like, proper stranded," Louis replies crossly. "And Steve only went down to Vancouver for a job; we're still going to make the film when he gets back. Anyway, I could go home if I wanted, but why spend the money when it's all right living here for now, and Mrs. P lets me have the room 's long as I do a bit of work in this place."

He waves a hand above his head, the gesture taking in the little store, which doubles as the post office. And the library, although the collection only takes up the single set of shelves that Harry's currently standing in front of. The books are all jumbled, so clearly Louis hasn't been doing any work at all in this part of the place. Harry moves two hardbacks about fishing out of the fiction section, and tucks them back where they belong with the rest of the how-tos. 

"Can you watch the counter for me while I grab a smoke?" Louis asks, and Harry says yes without thinking about what he's saying.

"Wait, I don't know how to - the register - Louis, what the fuck -" 

Louis is already outside with his cigarette, smirking at Harry through the window. He's only out there about a minute. "You're an arsehole," Harry tells him when he comes back inside, as the little bell on the door jingles happily. 

"There's nobody else here," Louis laughs. "Mrs. P doesn't care so long as I don't smoke inside."

Harry goes back to looking for something he hasn't read yet, but every so often he glances up over the top of the rows, and sees Louis watching him. "You really read those?" Louis asks. 

"Yes?"

"Get a little fire going in that pit outside your trailer and sit on the step while you read?"

"No," Harry says, frowning, annoyance plucking at him. "It's quite hard to read by just firelight, Louis."

Louis makes a face. "You're not lonely out by the lake like that?"

"No. It's nice, actually." It is. He gets in quite a bit of reading and guitar practice, and works on his poems a little every night. 

"You don't have a telly out there," Louis says, definitely not a question.

Harry shakes his head. "Watch the games at the pub."

"Niall does pay for the good satellite sports package. American cable, mate, I don't understand it." Louis boosts himself up to sit on the counter next to the till and reaches for his open laptop. He does something with it for a few minutes, while Harry pages through a dog-eared copy of DiPrima's short story collection. 

Then Harry hears music, and Louis swearing under his breath. "Something wrong?" he asks, sliding the book back on the shelf - he's read it before, and doesn't feel inclined to revisit it right now. 

"Been trying to edit this video for one of the lads back home and it's - come over here and tell me what you think the problem might be."

Harry sticks his hands in the pockets of his jacket and goes over to the counter. Louis pats the space next to him, so Harry hops up. "Look, see," Louis says, and swirls the cursor around the screen until he presses play on the iMovie controls. Their shoulders press together but the store's slightly chilly, so Harry's not about to complain. He does need to dig out a warmer sweater, though.

Louis's video starts and Harry's not surprised to recognize the style; images flicker and fade one into each other the same way as the tree movie that Mrs. P lets Louis project onto the wall. Instead of trees, this is birds, edited together from several hours of stationary camera footage to look as though the camera is actually following the birds' paths of flight. The music over it is moody and slow. The cuts are timed to the beats. 

"I think," Harry says slowly, "that while it's lovely to look at, I'm maybe missing the story you're trying to tell with it."

Louis frowns and leans away from Harry slightly. 

"I don't mean that in a bad way," Harry hurries to add. 

"How'd you mean it, then?"

"Well, usually music videos have a bit of a plot, right? That goes with the lyrics to the song, or at least sort of." 

"Just birds though, innit," Louis replies, chewing on his bottom lip for a second. "And really there's not much to the lyrics. Don't tell my mate I said that, yeah?"

"I won't," Harry promises. "And I do like how you cut things to the beat, that part's nice."

"But it needs more story."

" _I_ think so."

Louis hums in the direction of the screen for a moment, then closes the laptop decisively. "I'll need more footage, then. Go change your shirt to something that's not those ugly stripes and I'll film you, like, looking into windows up and down the street or sommat."

"What?" Harry sputters, confused at how Louis always manages to catch him off guard. "What's wrong with my shirt?"

"You don't have to act. I'll barely get your face, swear."

Louis looks hopeful, almost plaintive. Harry figures it's sort of his fault Louis is even contemplating changes. "All I have to go is look in windows?"

"Yes."

"All right, fine," Harry sighs, and jumps down from the counter.

*

"Had a dream last night, darlings," Harry says into the microphone, watching the deer that's meandering down the empty street pick her way past the window, "about being on an airplane. I was taking pictures out the little window. You all know it's difficult to get worthwhile pictures out that little window - ends up all clouds, yeah, or all sky. And out the window there was a bear, on the wing of the plane."

A light on the board starts to flash. "I'll come back to the bear, we've got a caller," Harry says. "You're on the air."

"Harry, play some music and stop talking about your dreams," Ben says. "No one wants to hear about your dreams, especially when they're a ripoff of an old episode of _The Twilight Zone_."

Harry grins, pushing his hair back from his face. "Our station owner, ladies and gents, insisting on musical content. Just for you, Ben, here's some Muse."

He hits the button for "Time is Running Out" to start, and cuts Ben's call to the actual handheld. "I could go back to reading the Murakami on-air," Harry tells him, grinning as he says it. The deer outside takes a few more steps down the street, head bobbing as she does. 

"You do that and you're fired."

"Who else would play sets of all Adele just for you? You wouldn't fire me."

"I might. I'll hire Nick back from Anchorage."

Harry's predecessor had decamped suddenly and without warning for a much higher paying, and further broadcasting, deejay job in Anchorage. He never met this Nick, but he's fairly sure Ben couldn't woo him back short of three times as much money and an entirely remodeled station. 

A loud chugging noise growing closer startles the deer back into the trees, and after another minute or so, Niall's yanking his truck up to the curb. "Harry," he's yelling, as he halfway falls out of the truck. Not for the first time, Harry wonders where Niall even got the rolling pile of scrap metal.

The Muse track is winding down, so Harry fades it out and says, "Dear listeners, I believe our local Irishman is having some sort of crisis. He is legitimately running towards the station. I'm going go to our planned all-U2 set a bit early, just for Niall, while I see what's gone so wrong."

"Harry, can you bartend?" Niall is gasping as he wrenches open the station door, which protests the mistreatment with a loud screech of metal. 

"No," Harry replies. "What, _now_?"

" _Please._ "

Harry gestures at all the workings of the radio station. "I'm in the middle of my own job here, Niall, if that weren't obvious."

"You can queue up a bunch of stuff, ya? I only need help for an hour or about it. Reggie called in sick, whole family's got the flu or poisoning or -"

"Poisoning?" Harry interrupts.

"You know what I mean," Niall grumbles, looking distinctly more upset than Harry thinks he's ever seen Niall before now. He rakes a hand through his hair, making it stick up even more than before. "I just need you to ring up beers and the like while I do lunch."

Ben probably won't fire him, as there's no one to replace him with. "All right," Harry says, and Niall whoops and punches his fist up at the sky.

He sets up a long playlist, locks the station door with a note that says _DOWN AT NIALL'S_ then goes back to the pub with Niall. There's already a cluster of people standing around and it's barely noon. "Everyone has to pay cash, the register's all programmed with drinks so you just touch the screen, I know you know how to pour a glass, and that little spigot there does the sodas," Niall says in a rush, and goes through the swinging doors into the kitchen.

"Into the deep end immediately, I guess," Harry says to Old Joe, who only stares at him for a moment before muttering about MGD and slapping a five dollar bill on the bar. 

It's not the worst hour Harry's ever spent, even if he does stab his own thumb with a cocktail spear and drip Miller Lite on his loafers, and Mary Jo has to make her own Caesar because the smell of the clamato juice makes him want to die. "How can you drink that?" he asks, horrified, as Mary Jo yells for Niall to toss her some celery.

"It's lunch," she replies, as though that's an answer. 

When most everyone's been fed and watered, Niall shoves a plate with a chicken sandwich on it through the window toward Harry. "Here, you earned lunch. And free beer for a week."

"Uh, thanks?" 

"Free beer mostly because it'll make Louis mad." Niall grins. Harry, mouth full of sandwich, only shakes his head. "What? His loss for driving out to the Preserve to film more nature or whatever."

Harry chews and swallows. "Thought he was over filming those birds," he says, and Niall shrugs.

*

"Set to watch the new version of me video?" Louis asks, sliding into the booth next to Harry and setting his laptop on the table. Harry moves his vodka cran carefully out of any possible spill zone. Louis steals a few crisps out of Harry's basket. 

"Do I even have a choice?" Harry replies, as dry as he possibly can.

Louis smiles widely. "No." 

"Well, let's have at it, then."

Louis has edited in the shots of Harry looking in windows - true to his promise, Harry's face is barely visible, mostly obscured by his hands cupped around his eyes and his hair falling down - and also bits of someone walking away from and toward the camera. After a few seconds, Harry recognizes one of Louis's several pairs of trainers. "You didn't go all the way to the Preserve just to film yourself walking, did you?" he asks.

Louis looks at him evenly for a moment. Then he laughs, "No," and, "did that right out on the street. There's a bit at the end from the Preserve."

In Harry's opinion, the music video works better now that it's not entirely made up of the various flight paths of birds. Louis has made it look as though the birds are what Harry sees when he looks in the windows, which gives it a bit of mystery, the question of _why is this man seeing birds flying?_ , although Harry's doubtful Louis provides an answer. In the final shot, video-Harry looks into the window of the laundromat, and sees a deer staring back. 

"Yeah, that's cool," he admits. "Did you spend all day in the wilderness trying to get that?"

"One of many I got in a couple hours," Louis replies, sounding smug. He rests his shoulder against Harry's, reaching his opposite hand over to close out of the editing program. His desktop picture is two small children running, followed by two girls that look quite a bit older.

"That your family? Sisters and… nephew? Niece?"

"Sister, sister, sister, and brother," Louis replies with a soft smile, pointing at each. "We're a big clan. I've another two sisters; one's in France right now, the other in New York."

"And you're here."

Louis laughs at that. "And I'm here." 

He nudges his shoulder against Harry's a bit, so Harry nudges back. "So," Louis says, drawing it out a little, "now that you've made your acting debut, how about it? A spot of improv for my short film?"

"You know, you never really explained that whole deal. Why's it something you want to make a movie of?"

Louis doesn't answer right away; Harry gently shuts the laptop so they won't spill on the keyboard and retrieves the basket of tater tots Niall dropped on the table earlier. He dunks one in the puddle of ketchup already on Louis's abandoned plate. 

"You're being uncharacteristically quiet," he says, when Louis still doesn't answer. A thought comes to him, sudden and sharp. "Did you… just want to ask me out, but not know how?"

Louis's face is completely red. He nods, looking the other way. 

"Movie roles, sure an interesting way to go about it," Harry adds.

"Fuck off," Louis says, still a dull red, and he elbows Harry in the side. Harry catches his arm and slides his own hand down, curling their fingers together. Louis looks down, then back up at Harry. "Really?"

"Don't have too many choices in this town, do I?"

"Fuck off," Louis repeats, but he laughs. Then he squeezes Harry's fingers. "I still want to make the short. I can't get Niall, he'd just make it too weird, and Reggie's too flat-faced, he'd never be good on camera."

"I'm telling Reggie you said that." Harry eats another tot. "I've never really acted before."

Louis taps the lid of the laptop with his free hand. "We know you look okay on camera, and you're already used to improvising." Harry raises both eyebrows at this and Louis adds, "On the radio, Harry? You monologue off the cuff all hours of the day."

Harry's never thought about it like that. "Huh."

"I'm right, aren't I?"

"It's not _entirely_ the same," Harry protests, halfheartedly. Louis rubs his thumb gently over Harry's, then frees his hand so he can reach for a tot. Harry thinks for a second, then asks, "So apart from the filming it bit, what's going to make our date a date, versus a thing like right now. Normal people don't both sit on the same side of the booth."

Louis brushes salt from his fingertips. "Intent."

"That's a thing that can change at any time," Harry points out.

"So?"

"So I can declare we're on a date right now," he replies, and puts his arm around Louis's shoulders. Louis stares at him for a moment, his face very close to Harry's, and then relaxes. His hand lands on Harry's thigh just above his knee. 

"All right," Louis murmurs. "Except I do have to get back to the store, Mrs P. went to Anchorage for the weekend to see her kids."

"Come out to the lake later," Harry says, surprising himself. "You and Niall are always on me about the trailer, so drag him along and then we'll kick him out after half an hour or so."

Louis grins brightly, then kisses Harry swiftly on the cheek before sliding out of the booth. 

*

"I don't know why you were both so chuffed to be invited," Harry says, unlocking the door of the trailer and gesturing broadly for Louis and Niall to go inside. "It's only a trailer, yeah?"

"You've been friends with us for six months and we've never been out here," Niall replies, going up the few steps. "Right, you weren't having us on about the size of it."

Harry gestures as if to say _why would I lie about the size of my trailer_ , even though neither of them are looking at him, then shoos Niall further in so Louis will stop standing on the step. Louis looks back over his shoulder and smiles when Harry nudges his hip. "It is cozy," he says.

Harry's trailer is large enough for a double bed, a kitchenette with a half-size fridge, a tiny cubicle of a loo, a chair, a small television/DVD combo currently perched on a box, and the space heater. "I don't need much."

Louis reaches back slightly so that his fingers trail over Harry's hand. "I like it."

"No wonder you eat half your meals at the pub," Niall says, but he's smiling. 

"How many things does one man really need?" Harry asks, not expecting an answer, then gestures towards the door. "Sit by the fire a while?"

Louis raises an eyebrow. "You get those marshmallows?"

"Did, yeah." Harry'd gotten them at the store, the same place he bought everything else. Mrs. P had two sorts of marshmallows: the mini size, and the big size. He tosses the bag of the big ones at Louis's head, but Louis catches them easily. 

It's not nice enough yet to sit by the fire without wearing jackets, but once Harry gets the kindling to ignite the careful pyramid of wood, it's nice enough for a May evening. Niall jogs over to his truck and gets the sack of sandwiches he brought, and flings the wrapped squares at Harry's and Louis's chests with accuracy. "You crushed it," Harry says, frowning sadly at Niall.

"No I didn't."

Harry holds up the sandwich. "The corner is dented."

"It tastes the same." Niall unwraps his own undamaged dinner. 

Louis is rolling his eyes. "Here, I'll trade. They're all turkey and cheese."

Harry's slumped on a blanket he refers to as "outdoors only", rubbing butter from the side of his fingers onto his jeans and waiting for Louis to finish threading marshmallows onto a stick when Niall's phone rings. "It's Reggie," he grumbles, picking up.

Harry glances at Louis, who does his best to make his expression into something innocent, but Harry's not fooled.

"Gotta go," Niall announces after a few seconds of listening to whatever Reggie's saying. He brushes his hands off on his knees and stands up. "Can't run the place without good old Niall."

"You are one of a kind," Harry says, waving.

Once Niall's gotten in his truck, Harry reaches over and tugs at Louis by the sleeve of his jacket until Louis moves onto the blanket as well. "How much did you pay Reggie to set that up?"

"Only ten dollars," Louis replies, and rests his shoulder against Harry's. "He thought he'd have to call Niall to come back for real whether I paid him off or not, so I don't think I can be accused of anything too devious."

"Uh-huh." 

Louis leans forward enough to hold his stick full of marshmallows over the fire. "It would have been unwelcoming of you to kick him out, all harsh and the like. This way… well, no one's in trouble, yeah?"

"Until he gets to the pub and there's only three customers," Harry laughs. He bumps his foot against Louis's. 

"Could happen." Louis turns his marshmallows carefully. "Could also not happen. I do like your trailer, Harry."

"Changing the subject, but thanks." 

Louis pulls the stick back; it's on fire. He blows it out in little quick huffs. "I don't mind them charred," he says, when he sees Harry grinning. "Aren't you having any?"

"Figured I'd let you do the work."

"Nice, Styles," Louis replies, but he pops the burned marshmallow in his own mouth, and offers Harry the next, only slightly singed one from the stick. It's almost too sweet for Harry's tastes, enough to make his teeth hurt, but the gentle slide of Louis's thumb over his bottom lip is nice, and the soft kiss that follows is even nicer. 

*

"It's a clear forty-eight degrees Fahrenheit this early morning," Harry says into the mic, looking out into the still near darkness of the street. "That's about nine degrees to those of us who don't subscribe to things such as Fahrenheit, or Daylight Savings. The sun's not even up yet, so let's keep it mellow, play a little Hozier."

Behind him, Louis is asleep on the shitty sofa Ben keeps in the station. Harry can hear him breathing, the occasional soft snore, but it's not loud enough for the mic to pick up. The Hozier track is four minutes long - enough time for Harry to eat a banana and think about what he needs to talk about next, probably the forecast for the week. He's planning a stretch of Beyonce a little later, but Harry's a big believer in letting his listeners wake up before he gets to what he thinks of as good workout music. 

His mobile vibrates on his lap. It's Ben, probably barely gotten out of bed. _don't forget the spring festival mention, next week Saturday, main street park._

 _quit policing my show_ , Harry writes back.

"Harry, put some playlist on and come get a cuddle," Louis says sleepily from behind him, and Harry looks over his shoulder to see Louis with his arm thrown out from under the ugly blue and brown checkered blanket, wiggling his fingers in Harry's direction.

He says, "I have to read the forecast but then I will," and Louis nods and pulls his arm back in, his eyes closing again.

 _festival mention after I do this whole run of Florence_ , Harry texts Ben. 

"Not looking to heat up much the next few days," he says into the mic once he's faded out the end of the Hozier. "Today - high of fifty-three, tomorrow - high of fifty-five, so don't break out the sandals yet, loves. Niall, if you're listening, Louis and I will be over around two for this film-slash-seance, so hide the good liquors."

"'s not a seance," Louis grumbles from the sofa, his voice half muffled where Harry's sure his face is pressed to the weird old throw pillow. It has a dog on it. "And you look good on camera, love."

"Got some Florence and the Machine up next," Harry continues into the mic. "We'll start slow and ramp it up, a good start to the day. Plus, appropriately weird enough for calling up ghosts. Enjoy."

The playlist is close to forty minutes long, so that's a good amount of time in which Harry can poke Louis so he squishes closer to the back of the sofa, then settle down onto the cushions with his back resting against Louis's chest. "If Ben walks in, he'll hijack my show," Harry whispers. He reaches back to slide his fingers through Louis's. "I'm afraid of what he might decide to play."

Louis is laughing, a thing Harry can feel, as there's not an incredible amount of space on the sofa. This early, the station feels small but in a nice way; cozy with the carefully balanced stacks of records and CDs, and just the right temperature that Harry can leave his shoes off and go around in his socks without freezing his toes off, but not be too hot tucked against Louis and his blanket. Florence is wailing now but he's not sure what about. 

"Don't let me fall asleep," he mumbles, turning his head enough to be heard, and Louis makes a vaguely affirmative noise in reply as his arm tightens a little around Harry's waist.


End file.
